


But If The Sky Is Empty [And There Are No More Gods]

by Saunne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crossover, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has Sky Flames, Harry is depressed, Harry no, How To Deal With Your Problems 101: Don't Bottle Up All the Crap That Happens, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Post-Canon, The Arcobaleno will appear in Chapter 5, The first chapters are angsty, You've been warned, it gets worse before getting better, well sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28725273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saunne/pseuds/Saunne
Summary: On the second day of May 1998, Harry Potter headed for his own execution with a heart full of regret.Perhaps it was Fate, because after all, a prophecy had been made and they always find a way to achieve their ends. Perhaps it was the famous "Potter Luck" that struck again like an involuntary but welcome Deus Ex-Machina. Perhaps it was even his own despair, his own rage for life that brought about this unexpected result.Harry Potter falls before rising.But he's changed more than he thinks.His magic eludes him and only a raw fire remains under his skin, as beautiful as it is uncontrollable. He needs answers and these are not found in the Wizarding World.But he also didn't expect those same answers to be found in the Mafia, of all things.
Relationships: Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!) & Harry Potter, Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!)/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 62
Kudos: 311





	1. Prologue : End of an Era

**Author's Note:**

> I only got back to fanfiction writing very recently but I had been dreaming of doing this Harry Potter x Katekyou Hitman Reborn crossover for a while now, and ... it's finally the time. I'm in the midst of my finals right now and as they turn me into a nervous wreck, writing a brand new fanfiction at 3am seemed like a wonderful idea.
> 
> I write for my own pleasure and therefore have no publication schedule, but if this fic pleases I will try to update it when I can. Otherwise, I am not a native speaker so if you notice any errors / have time to waste for beta-read, please don't hesitate to contact me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this work and see you in the next chapter !

His footsteps are almost silent on the soft ground.

His body is heavy, stiff, as if his bones had been transformed into lead. He shuffles, the soles of his shoes scraping the ground as he barely lifts his feet, as if the action demands more force than he can provide. But he walks, slowly.

He walks in silence, towards his own death, ghosts of his relatives in his wake like a sad parody of a funeral procession.

His mind is slow, as if running in slow motion, yet everything around him is almost painfully clear.The slightest sound seems deafening, the beating of his heart in his ears and the flow of his blood in his veins like war cries - _because they are at war, but it will be over, soon and even though the cries of the last battle are still ringing in his ears, it will all be over, soon, soon enough…_ \- as he continues to move forward, inexorably. In the corner of his vision, Sirius twinkles faintly, with a pale glow. He smiles softly as he meets Harry’s gaze but his eyes are sad.

The air is sweet and sultry.

Spring is not yet quite gone and summer is not yet here.

He is cold.

His cloak drags on the ground, the rustle a faint noise against tall grass.

* * *

**Abandoned in the tall grass, a small cracked stone disappears in silence.**

**He doesn't notice the slight shape in his clothes pocket.**

**By his side, the ghosts of his loved ones seem more tangible.**

* * *

Voices in the distance, which were only whispers, become clearer.

His heart sinks.

But he moves forward.

Again.

Again.

_Again_.

He finds two, with fat laughter and angry voices. They seek, fidget, exhaust themselves and growl. Set off again, with a decided step.

He follows without a sound, without a word. Invisible, behind his fine cloth cloak, his last shield.

One step after another.

His body is heavy, his mind is weary.

The hands that tenderly caress his shoulders when the cloak drops to the ground are lighter than feathers.

In the dim light, Voldemort's eyes are an almost unreal red.

The Boy who lived… has come to die.

Quicker than falling asleep, said Sirius. 

He only sees a flash of green before he falls.

_Quicker than falling asleep..._

* * *

**Folded neatly inside a robe, a thin shimmering cape flutters.**

**It's not worried. It knows that its owner will come back.**

**What are a few moments of waiting for an object as old as the world?**

* * *

When he wakes up, King Cross station greets him, a familiar setting dressed in white. 

A familiar figure stands in front of the train, eyes twinkling and looking amiable.

He wants to smile but his lips are frozen and his heart is cold. As he watches Dumbledore walk towards him, his immaculate robes hanging around his ankles, Harry wonders. 

He is no longer a child.

He wonders, vaguely, if the man he thought he could call a grandfather had really planned all this. 

Flashes of his "adventures" come back to him as he wonders, quietly, if Dumbledore ever saw Harry, just Harry, instead of a disposable pawn in the shape of a Savior. Or, if the man had ever seen him as Harry, when had his role as the Savior replaced the frail and adventurous young boy who had stormed this new world offered on a silver platter ?

He wonders.

But it doesn't matter anymore.

* * *

**Invisible to all, a dark figure smiles softly.**

* * *

_I want to live !_

_I don't want to die... I don't want my life to end here !_

_I still have so much to do, so much to say, to discover !_ _Please !_

_Please if there is a God in this damned world, please…_

_PLEASE, I WANT TO LIVE !_

* * *

**There is no God here, Little One, it chuckles.**

**_Just me._ **

* * *

Voldemort falls, silently.

Collectively, the world catches its breath.

It’s over.

* * *

**Harry Potter tears himself out of limbo with all the strength of his** **_will_ ** **.**

**It’s a silent and motionless struggle but confined in his body of flesh bruised by trials, his soul** **_cries_ ** **.**

* * *

It's strange to think that it's all over.

It's strange to think that he's alive to see it all come to an end.

Hogwarts is in ruins. The only place he has ever considered his home stands on top of its cliff, like a king sitting uprightly on his throne, still imposing despite its pitiful condition. Even with the help of magic, it will be months before the place regains its former glory, if it’s even possible to completely erase the stigma of the war that has ravaged the place. And even if Hogwarts regains its grandeur, with its corridors with thick carpets lined with animated canvases, with its stairs that move as they please,, with its doors that lead nowhere and all these strange little oddities that Harry has grown to love over the past few short years…

Even if everything is fixed, exactly the same, as if nothing ever happened…

Harry knows that no one will ever truly forget.

Those who have experienced it will always remember the sound of screams echoing between the high walls, the thick smell of blood in the Great Hall, the overwhelming despair as all seemed lost. No one will forget the violent light of the spells cast with fury, the boiling heat of adrenaline in the veins while it is necessary to continue to run, to fight, to incapacitate, to kill…

No one will forget the dead.

* * *

**Behind his closed eyelids, as Narcissa Malfoy leans over him, the world** **_burns_ ** **.**

* * *

The Day After…

The Day After is blurry. 

People are agitated, crying and hugging tight each other. The war is over but no one can, still wants to believe it too much. Voldemort's corpse still lies where it was dragged, away in the shadows. No one wants to go near it, but many are watching from a distance. To be sure he won't get up.

The bereaved mourn their loved ones.

There are many.

Too much.

Harry goes to see them all, every one of them, his heart aching when he recognizes a familiar face. He wants to cry but his eyes are dry. He can't cry, not yet. There is still so much to do. Wherever he goes, he is greeted with hugs, looks filled with sorrow but also with joy. People clutch at his sleeves, cry on his shoulders, hug him softly as broken thanks flow from their lips in an endless stream.

The Boy-Who-Lived.

The-Man-Who-Conquered.

The Savior.

When he finally finds the comfort of a bed - _he doesn't even know where he is, who brought him back, everything is a blur around him and he is so, so tired_ \- he’s out like a light. He is asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, sleep pulling him gently into its embrace, the heavy exhaustion that has followed him since the end of the battle keeping even the most terrible nightmares at bay. 

It honestly sounds more like a coma than sleep, but beggars can't choosers.

The next few weeks ... The next few months will be difficult. It wasn't just Hogwarts that was impacted, it was all of British wizarding society that faltered dangerously during Voldemort's brief period of power. 

The reconstruction will be long and difficult.

But for now, Harry just wants to sleep and _forget everything_.

* * *

**Sitting on the edge of the bed, a dark figure smiles softly.**

**Their emaciated, pale hands tenderly caress the curve of a pale face with features made loose by unconsciousness. A thin finger follows the curve of a scar, brushes a temple, strokes a delicate eyelid and laughs softly at the caress of thick eyelashes along their fingertips. On the heavy aged silver ring adorning their phalanx, a cracked stone has returned to its original place, glittering with a dark luster thanks to a moonbeam.**

**Their other hand is wrapped carefully around a beloved wand, their fingertips lovingly caressing every curve and knot in the wood as their wand hums under their touch. The wood is strikingly pale against their black robes, almost bone-like.**

**The figure remains a moment longer, humming a soft, melancholy tune as they run their fingers through the sleeper's unruly hair. When they get up, it is with a movement of inhuman grace, almost as if they were floating. One of their hands intertwines with one of the sleeper as they lean in and kiss his forehead.**

**When they leave, it is with an almost dramatic wave of their thin, shimmering cloak, the fabric floating behind them and moving away from the sleeping young man almost with regret as Death disappears behind it.**

**There is no trace of their presence, no footprint, no mark in the mattress, as if they hadn't sat for hours at the bedside of their Favorite.**

**No sign of their presence except for their emblem, almost invisible, shining in a pale silver glow right where Harry’s heart is.**


	2. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has been quiet and low-key since the last battle, dragging himself wearily around the mansion like an idle Atlas, now that the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
> 
> He wanders but above all, he dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My exams are finally over and I am free to write ! \o/
> 
> First of all, I would like to thank you all for your support of this fic, I absolutely did not expect so many hits, kudos or comments. Thank you to everyone who subscribed to this fic and while I can't promise regular updates, I'm glad you liked this short prologue enough to want to know what's next.
> 
> I have introduced in this chapter two Harry Potter characters that I particularly like and who will come back ... not recurrently but who will be fairly present throughout the story. I also took the opportunity to change the tags a bit, if you noticed.
> 
> I wish you a good read and don't hesitate to tell me what you thought in the comments !

Harry Potter doesn't really know Theodore Nott.  
  


Truth be told, until he finds the other one sitting at his bedside waiting for him to wake up, Harry is pretty sure they've never interacted before. Of course, he had vaguely registered the other's presence and remembered his name: Gryffindor (unfortunately) shared many classes with Slytherin and it wasn't like the promotions were huge.   
  


Nevertheless, Theodore Nott and his closest acolyte, Blaise Zabini, had always been relatively low-key, on the fringes of the loud and popular group that had formed around Draco Malfoy. They were never far away, no, not when Malfoy was the center of all this political mess that made up Slytherin, but they weren't close either. He had seen Nott smile and sneer a few times with Malfoy and remembered seeing him wear one of those “Potter Stinks” badges in fourth year, but other than that, Nott had never personally attacked, mocked or insulted him. The same was true of Blaise Zabini, although Harry may have seen him on a more regular basis, especially during Quidditch matches and at parties hosted by Horace Slughorn and his Slug Club.  
  


But the two, compared to Malfoy's group, were discreet. Nott was often seen alone in the library, reading some complicated books about arithmancy or runes, or with a few Ravenclaws he enjoyed spending his time with. Zabini could also be seen in his neighborhood, the two working together on essays or hanging out near Black Lake, when the dark-skinned Slytherin wasn't in the company of the older students of his House or with the few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws he allowed in his neighborhood.  
  


They weren't invisible, as it was impossible to be totally at Hogwarts, but they were quiet, fading into the background like lesser characters in a big story.  
  


And they had apparently played on that during the war.  
  


As a Pureblood Slytherin, with a Death Eater father as the icing on the cake in Nott's case, they were relatively free and little controlled under the reign of terror established by the Carrows. And they took the opportunity to thoroughly sabotage everything they could, passing crucial information on to students who resisted the oppressive regime in place, apparently even going as far as to organize the smuggling of food from the kitchen to the Room of Requirement for those who had been hiding there.  
  


When Harry had finally been able to find some time to speak with Neville,who had been the face of resistance against Death Eaters within Hogwarts, the other boy had whispered to him about everything the two Slytherins had done. It had been hard to trust them at first, hard not to expect a stab in the back, some betrayal. Generalizations of ideas were always dangerous because they led to a systematic exclusion without taking into account the particular cases and this time it was indeed Nott and Zabini, the famous particular cases. No one would ever have thought, with all the preconceptions and hard-skinned clichés that had run since the end of the First War, that members of the House of Slytherin would willingly turn away from Darkness.  
  


And yet.  
  


Nott and Zabini had supported the war effort in their Slytherin manner: lurking in the shadows, proceeding with cunning, prudence and discretion. Then when the battle had broken out, as the students were evacuated through the secret tunnel of the Room of Requirement, when they could have escaped with the others and taken shelter - _after all, they had done a lot already_ \- they had stayed to join the fighters and fend off the Death Eaters. To fight against people they had known from their earliest childhood, to whom they were related, who were even part of their _family_.  
  


And when the battle was over, they were still standing and free this time to proudly show, without hiding, which side they were on.  
  


But although the war itself was over, the consequences remained to be dealt with.  
  


Hogwarts is half-ruined, leaving its many students without a roof over their heads. Many can return home without too much trouble, but many more are homeless as well. Most members of the Order no longer have a secure home, and frankly, no one really wants to leave their friends and relatives with what just happened. The losses are still too vivid, the wounds too fresh.  
  


Then, breaking the silence in a voice almost too happy, a broad sardonic smile twisting his thin lips, Theodore Nott invites all those without a roof over their heads to invite themselves to the ancestral Manoir Nott.

* * *

**He runs. His lungs are burning, his breath is heaving but he must not stop, he cannot stop. If he stops, It will catch up with him.  
  
**

**And if It catches up, all is lost.  
  
**

**So he runs, further, faster.  
  
**

**His cape flaps in the wind and his feet pound on the ground in a frantic rhythm. That's all he can hear, everything else seems muffled.The screams seem distant as he weaves his way through the ruins, leaping over bodies that will not rise again.  
  
**

**Fred stares at him, accusingly.  
  
**

**Tonks and Remus watch him go by. Their bound hands are stained with blood.  
  
**

**_He thinks he hears a child's cry in the distance._   
  
**

**He continues to run.  
  
**

**It always follows him, relentless.  
  
**

**He has to keep running.  
  
**

**He has to...**

  
******  
****… Does he really have to?  
  
**

**Dumbledore looks at him, tenderly.  
  
**

**In his blackened hand, a golden pawn shines faintly.  
  
**

**Harry stops, whirls.  
  
**

**Red eyes, green flash.  
  
**

**Quicker than falling asleep.  
  
**

**Around him, the world burns.  
  
**

**The world burns.  
  
**

_**He burns.** _

* * *

When Harry wakes up, with a gasp rather than the scream he can feel stuck in his throat, he is surprised to feel rested.  
  


He can't remember the last good night's sleep he had.  
  


Then the unfamiliar surroundings register and panic floods him. He sits up abruptly, half tangling himself in the thick sheets that cover him. He doesn't have his glasses, _his wand is nowhere in sight_ -  
  


“Potter, calm down! You will wake up the others! ” a male voice hisses, in a whisper.  
  


Sitting in a soft armchair next to his bed, an indistinct form stares at him. In their outstretched hand, his glasses.It takes Harry a few moments to recognize Theodore Nott in the semi-darkness of what appears to be a richly decorated bedroom.  
  


“...Nott ? What… Where - ”   
  


The Slytherin cuts it off with a wave of his hand, closing the book in his lap with a soft thud. When Harry looks in the direction the other is pointing, he can't hide his relief. In a corner of the room, sharing a large mattress on the floor, he can distinguish the familiar faces of his two closest friends. Hermione is half-folded on herself, as she usually does, her two hands brought close to her face. She looks relaxed, and the stress lines that have marked her face for the past year are almost indistinguishable in her sleep. Ron is behind her, his tall stature folded almost protectively around Hermione. Harry couldn't help but smile softly, knowingly, when he noticed Ron's arm draped over Hermione's waist.  
  


They look… alright.  
  


“They didn't want to be too far away, in case you woke up,” Nott whispered softly, his calm voice barely audible despite the silence. Harry can only nod. They were joined at the hip for months, cramped in a tiny tent and although they might have hated him at times, it would seem strange to sleep alone again. Like something important was missing.  
  


A rustle of fabric across the room snapped him out of his thoughts. On the opposite side of where Hermione and Ron are, another mattress has been set up, probably the one Nott was sleeping in. Another figure fidgets there for a moment, growls a little before falling asleep again. It's hardly surprising : the first rays of dawn barely filter through the thick curtains that obscure the imposing window.  
  


Nott leads him silently into an adjoining room, a small study with walls covered with tall bookcases. He lets Harry take a seat in the only velvet armchair as he pulls the chair from the desk to sit in front of it. The silence between them is heavy, but not surprising. They have never had the opportunity to interact before. Different Houses, different friends, what should have been different sides of a war...  
  


Then, after a breath, Nott begins to speak. His tone is factual and when he doesn't look Harry in the eye, his gaze drifts to the window and the rose-orange sky that begins to appear.  
  


“We… Everyone was starting to worry if there was something wrong with you because you weren't waking up. It took all of Granger's power of persuasion and a few heartfelt curses from Weasley to keep anyone from bothering you,” he begins with a flat voice, though his tone quickly changes to something almost teasing, “but considering you look more like a semi-functional human and less like a half-warmed corpse, I guess that was the right option. You 'slept' for over 30 hours in a row, if you could call it sleep rather than a coma."   
  


… Huh.  
  


It shouldn't be funny, really, but Harry couldn't hold back a small laugh. There is so much to do and Harry just ... slept like the dead. Nott continues with his explanation, picking up from the end of the last battle with Voldemort. Harry is silently grateful to him : he was half drugged with adrenaline the hours after the battle and much of his memory is at best fuzzy, at worst nonexistent.  
  


So he listens, while Nott talks almost factually about the dead, the rout, the wait. As he explains, in a calm voice, the sketchy organization put in place and how his family mansion has become a haven for those with no place to return, in addition to serving as a HQ for what remains of the Order of the Phoenix.  
  


Harry listens and learns about the consequences of this absurd war that nearly brought down the British wizarding world.

* * *

_When Theo explains their current location, he does not mention that he gave Harry his own room, his own bed. It was one of the rooms in the mansion that most resembled an inhabited room rather than a mere empty place like the rest of this dark, creepy manor. That's all he can offer to Harry Potter, Savior of the British Wizarding World, and the thought twists his stomach.  
  
_

_A roof, a bath, and hot food is all he can do to repay the boy, the man who saved him from a life of slavery under the orders of a madman.  
  
_

_It’s pitiful.  
  
_

_He doesn't push Blaise away when the other's arms wrap around his waist and the taller boy rests his chin on his shoulder, intertwining their fingers gently in the now empty room. Granger and Weasley led Potter into the dining room where his house elves prepared a real banquet for breakfast. The half-open door to his room lets the cries and laughter filter through and Theo can't remember the last time the Manor seemed so alive.  
  
_

_He smiles weakly as Blaise kisses him on the corner of the lips.  
  
_

_“Shall we go down ? Or do you prefer a little calm before all the madness ?” Blaise whispers against the curve of his neck. Theo laughs.  
  
_

_“Let's go down before the croissants disappear. I can handle a little madness as long as I have my pastry."  
  
_

_He hopes that this madness, as Blaise puts it so well, will last a little longer. He's in no rush to retrieve his dreary and sad mansion. Who knows, if he's persuasive enough, maybe others besides Blaise will stay.  
  
_

_He is afraid that silence will return._

* * *

Nott’s Manor is a large building which, without the bustling life, would most certainly be dismal. Made of bricks, a red so dark that they appear almost black, it is a building almost as tall as it is wide, all in sharp corners and sharp edges, a massive building looking absurdly out of place in a pretty English garden filled with pale weeping willows and pristine rose bushes. The interior is stuffy, without a pop of bright color to break up the monotony of grays, dark greens and silvers that seem to adorn every available surface. Despite the high windows, it is as if the light physically refused to enter, giving the rooms an atmosphere more suited to a cellar than a living room or bedroom.  
  


Subject to the strict rules of his father, forced to wall himself in obedient silence and hide behind a calm and polite facade, the Manor was more of a prison than a home for Theodore Nott.  
  


But now ? With this incessant ballet of broken families, exhausted soldiers, child warriors who occupy all the space with their sighs, their cries, their tears ? With all these people who stormed these dark halls and brought life to them with their voices, presences and screams?  
  
Now the Manor seems almost alive, almost warm.  
  


Molly Weasley, to the stunned horror of his house elves, requisitioned the kitchen. Inside, she busies herself several hours a day preparing gargantuan meals in sufficient quantities to feed the small army that has transformed the mansion into its headquarters. Longbottom, despite having a mansion to return to, has stayed with the rest of the Potter gang and is never found far from the weird but sweet Luna Lovegood, who spends most of her time wandering around the garden. The Weasley siblings and the Potter gang, without Potter himself, seem to be everywhere at once : at Hogwarts, at the Ministry, at Diagon Alley, in the Manor Library, with dozens and dozens of pages sprawled out all over the tables...  
  


This is the first time that Theodore can fully appreciate Hermione Granger's intelligence and Merlin be damned, the girl seems to be running out of nothing but coffee and spite. It had taken less than a day before she broke down and embarked on an enraged rant against all the adults who, now that the war was over, were trying to take control of the situation and "send the children to play elsewhere”.  
  


It was her war, she had said. It was her who fought, her who was tortured, her who found the fucking solutions so that they didn't die a dog’s death as they were being hunted down by the Snatchers. It was her war, her fight and if they tried to take this from her _now_ , when she could _finally_ make a difference, they were going to have to wrest it out of her cold, dead hands.  
  


Potter, who had been quiet and low-key since the last battle and dragged himself wearily around the mansion like an idle Atlas, now that the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders, smiled at his friend, before looking knowingly at Shacklebolt.  
  


No one had tried to tell Hermione Granger what to do afterwards, as she became one of the pillars of the rebuilding of the British wizarding world.  
  


Even Blaise, who had always had reservations about her, could not help but bow to her ruthless efficiency and her efforts to get everything back on track. It was not uncommon, over the following weeks, for Theo to find his partner immersed in a heated debate with the Muggle-born in the mansion library, even though the place looked like a war zone, with papers covering each available surface.  
  


It took only 5 days for Hermione Granger, with the help of the Hogwarts teachers, to start rebuilding the school.  
  


It only took 10 more for the work on Diagon Alley to follow.  
  


The Ministry is the next step.  
  


And Theodore Nott could only watch, torn between admiration and horror, as Hermione Granger, 17-year-old Muggle-born, War Heroine, member of the Golden Trio and “the brightest witch of her age”, rebuilt a whole society with only a quill, parchment, many books, and more coffee than it should be humanly possible to drink..  
  


_It took less than 8 months for Hermione Granger to change the face of the wizarding world forever._

* * *

**He wakes up slowly. His body is heavy and he has a crick in the neck, which isn't too surprising considering he fell asleep in the common room rather than in his bed. The familiar surroundings make him feel like a balm to his heart, as he lets his eyes roam the room empty of any inhabitant other than himself.  
  
**

**He is coiled, as usual, in his favorite armchair. Located the perfect distance from the fireplace to enjoy the warmth without overheating, it's also close to a window, allowing Harry to look quietly outside when he catches himself daydreaming.  
  
**

**Night is approaching and twilight tints the sky with warm pinks and oranges, which make the red walls even darker and the gold of the chandeliers even brighter. He absently reaches out to brush against the panes, retracting in surprise at the icy coldness of the glass.  
  
**

**It’s not cold, usually.  
  
**

**It never gets cold in the common room, not with the crowds usually rushing in, not with the fire blazing merrily day and night but Harry can't help but curl up a little more in the chair. Fred and George teased him a lot about it : Harry, still smaller and frail than the rest of his comrades, almost seemed to disappear into the imposing chair he had unofficially claimed as his own.  
  
**

**Harry isn't cold, no, but he can't stop shivering. Her cheek is icy, so is his forehead, and the memory of a loving yet freezing touch still lingers on his skin, covered with goosebumps, keeping the phantom traces of a gesture of affection whose provenance remains unknown to him.  
  
**

**He wants to warm up but he sees no blankets and in the fireplace only a few embers glow faintly, a soft warm golden orange bleeding under the sooty black.**

* * *

Little by little, as days give way to weeks, people are leaving. It is a slow process, which progresses as the reconstructions advance. The shock has passed and even though the mourning still weighs on them, a heavy shroud of sadness and pain, it is time to start to move on.  
  


Little by little,cNott’s Manor is emptying. It is still used as a meeting point, as Theo is adamant that everyone would be welcome as there is no lack of space, but Kingsley has started to move to the Ministry, members of the Order are starting to return to what remains of their homes. When Diagon Alley repairs begin and Kingsley begins his first public interviews, Hermione firmly seated at his side, the comings and goings increase.  
  


The Weasleys are among the last to leave and without much surprise they invite Harry to come with them.  
  


The last time Harry saw The Burrow was at Bill and Fleur's wedding, before the frantic escape. The place must be relatively livable if they decide to go back, but… Harry can't. Not when he looks at their tired and sad features, sees the way George's gaze always wanders to his left as he speaks…  
  


Not when he sees that person-sized hole in the semi-circle they form just outside the mansion.  
  


So he smiles softly and declines the offer. “I think you need to spend some family time,” he offers, and he can see the way Molly's gaze saddens and George flinches, searching for a twin who is no longer by his side. Ron opens his mouth but Ginny cuts him off with a nudge in the ribs, before he can even utter a single word, just nodding to Harry.  
  


“You're family too,” Ron's eyes scream.  
  


“Thank you,” Ginny's ones whisper.  
  


And they go, leaving Harry alone on the dark porch of the building.

* * *

**He is still alone, in this dream.  
  
**

**He realized, after a few rehearsals, that nothing he saw was real, that everything was a product of his imagination. And if sometimes his heart sinks when he remembers another dream, a dark hallway and a closed door ... well, he's at least sure Voldemort isn't involved this time.  
  
**

**He had time, during those long nights, to notice the little details, the little barely noticeable changes that were happening as the days went by. The room still looks like the Gryffindor common room, all red and gold, but the colors are less vivid, more muted. The scarlet curtains appear more burgundy now, although the exact shade is difficult to assess due to the eternal sunset behind the window, which bathes the room in a warm orange light.  
  
**

**There are things that have disappeared.The majority of the chairs have been replaced with those fun, colorful beanbags that the Come-and-Go Room brought up once for one of the DA meetings, and there are no tables in sight. The piles of books left on top of them by Hermione are nowhere to be seen, as is Ron's chessboard.  
  
**

**And Harry doesn't understand why this particular realization makes him feel like his heart is sinking.**

* * *

Harry is a wanderer in his own life after the final battle.  
  


Time passes, the survivors bustle about and he wanders. He attends meetings, takes part in meals, goes to sleep at reasonable hours. He lives but at the same time, he doesn't. He feels strangely detached from everything, floating in a haze of manifest indifference to everything around him. He is there, he is present but at the same time, he is not.  
  


They understand.  
  


They leave him alone most of the time. Free to wander the dismal corridors of the Manor or roam the gardens, often alone, sometimes with Luna. He goes to visit a herd of Thestral in the nearby wood, finding eerie comfort in the sight of the skeletal horses snorting and snorting when they realize he has no food to offer them. The following times, he brings with him a few slices of bacon taken from the breakfast table.  
  


He wanders.  
  


Theodore Nott often finds him coiled in one of the armchairs in his library, coiled in a seat too big for him, which reminds him of his favorite armchair in Gryffindor tower, his eyes red from crying and his voice made hoarse by sobs. The Slytherin never makes any remark about it, does not ask for explanations. He leaves slowly, only to return with a mug filled to the brim with what is almost always hot chocolate, but sometimes delicately scented tea, which Harry sips softly, staring at the roaring fire in the fireplace with a blurry gaze.  
  


Harry wanders and they let him wander, find himself again, as they move forward.  
  


Then after a few days - _or is it a few weeks ?_ \- Hermione comes to find him. She doesn't speak at first, just watching him for a moment and when she does speak, it is cautiously. He listens to her with a distracted ear as she tells him about her work with Kingsley to overturn the most damaging laws that had been passed during Voldemort's reign, the establishment of trusted people in key positions, the first interviews, the reconstruction of Hogwarts to which they are going to lend a hand ...  
  


_Ah. There it is.  
  
_

“Would you like to help rebuild Hogwarts, Harry?” she finally asks, after a good ten minutes of beating around the bush.   
  


He should say he's surprised, but he's not. He knew she wouldn't end up asking after all, that it was only a matter of time. They left him to himself, to pull himself together, but he is their symbol, their Savior. The Man-Who-Conquered they now call him in a whisper.  
  


And he knows she wants to do the right thing and doesn't think badly, that this is all politics, a way to put Kingsley in a good light and help him establish his new authority as the Ministry of Magic if he has the support of the Savior of the Wizarding World but...  
  


He is so _done_ being used.  
  


He still wonders how much of what he went through was real, the pure product of events and how much was orchestrated, by Dumbledore in particular. The war has taken his blinders off and he sees the world in a new light, much darker and more cruel.  
  


_How much was planned, how much was just a plan to shape him into the perfect little savior, who would sacrifice himself without question ? Were the Dursleys and their kind “care” intended to keep him in line, ignorant, soft, and malleable ? And the Philosopher's Stone, wasn’t it too easy to access if some First Years managed to overcome obstacles that should have kept Voldemort out ? Dumbledore introduced himself as a friend of Mad-Eye Moody, how did he never realize he was an impostor before all was set ? And Sirius, could there be nothing he could have done for Sirius ?  
  
_

He still wonders where the truth ends and where the lies begin in this huge play that they have made of his life... and here he has to come back on stage after the short intermission.  
  


And he's so tired. But Hermione looks at him, her big eyes filled with hope and expectation and he loves her, he loves this smart and determined girl who is blossoming full of grace… So he smiles, hides the resentment and the questions in a corner deep in his mind and accepts.  
  


And he plays his role at Hogwarts, in the midst of admirers and friends, in front of journalists and politicians. He smiles as he shakes Kingsley's hand, he smiles as he clears away the debris and feels the magic around him, as he tries not to cling to the still vivid memories of a merciless battle.  
  


He smiles as his wand buzzes only weakly in his hand, as if sleeping. He smiles as his hand trembles violently as he finds bodies under the debris he was lifting and that it takes all of his willpower to hold his Wingardium Leviosa.  
  


He smiles, as he wants to throw up, as he wants to cry, as he wants to disappear.  
  


He smiles and he endures.  
  


He'll be fine as long as he keeps playing the game.

* * *

**When Harry falls asleep that night, he doesn't really have time to admire the changes in the room. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the towering silhouette of a bookcase, but his attention is entirely on the strange being sitting in his armchair.  
  
**

**His first instinct is an instinctive panic when he sees the misty black veils and the skeletal hands of cadaveric pallor. He has no wand on him, he cannot defend himself, he is completely at the mercy of the Demen-  
  
**

**“Calm, Little One. Breath. ” a soft voice commands, as thin, cold fingers wrap delicately around his wrist. He breathes in with a panicked hiccup as the being begins to make slight circles, lightly, barely pressing, with his thumb. Trying to calm him down, he quickly realizes.  
  
**

**He stares at the being -** **_the creature, the thing, the monster, the god_ ** **\- as the latter gently leads him across the room, causing him to sit in the chair previously occupied. Then they stay standing, almost too close. Harry stares uneasily at them, searching for something discernible, something human, under the dark shadows of their hoods. He doesn't take his eyes off them as they crouch in front of the fireplace on the verge of extinction gazing at the dying embers with intense concentration.  
  
**

**“Wha-... Who are you, exactly ? And what are you doing… here ?” he finally asks in an uncertain voice. The dream has been going on for weeks now and there has never been anyone other than him and his own presence marks, until today. He doesn't know if he must be feeling worried because despite his unpleasant - terrifying - appearance, the being has only been kind to him. For the moment, at least.  
  
**

**They don't respond immediately, their heads tilted to the side in mock questioning as they continue to stare at the fireplace. Then, when Harry thought they wouldn't answer, they spoke, in that same soft voice they used to calm him down.  
  
**

**“... I came to see your “home”. But it looks like I'm still a bit early. ”  
  
**

**If anything, the cryptic answer only leads to more questions and he doesn't fail to notice that the question about who they are has been carefully avoided. He squirms uneasily as the other seems unwilling to move in front of the fireplace and he wonders whether he should keep talking or ask another question. But before he makes up his mind, the figure moves, a hazy movement barely registered by the simply inhuman speed of the gesture.  
  
**

**Then they are gone, leaving nothing but the fleeting memory of the coldness of their fingers around his wrist and the fragile softness of a kiss on his forehead.  
  
**

**... In the fireplace, a few flames shiver timidly.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it is important that I let you know that I am constantly in a duel with myself when I write. You see, I like to write and I write pretty automatically. Inspiration comes easily and I usually know where I'm going, at least I have the big ideas in mind and then I embroider around. I only have a really little tiny bit of nothing problem that can be translated like this:
> 
> Me : Okay, it’s time to write some action to get things going  
> My brain : … Put some settings before, will you ?  
> Me* obediently putting some settings first*: And now, I can write the act-  
> My brain : Settings.  
> Me : But I just-  
> My brain : S E T T I N G S
> 
> And so I add settings, over and over again, to make sure I put it right and that everything is well explained and understandable and that's why we have another chapter coming up just focusing on Harry rather than moving on to what you all want (and I want too for that matter) aka the whole part involving KHR.
> 
> I'm sorry.


	3. Alone with Everybody [Part 1]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's easy to see that something has changed between Ron, Hermione and himself. However, it's more complicated to accept it. 
> 
> [There is nothing, nothing more except an empty sky to contemplate.]
> 
> ["Tell me, Little One... What is a home ?"]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer : Harry Potter and Katekyo Hitman Reborn are the are the property of their respective authors, JK Rowling and Akira Amano 
> 
> ... Yish. Well, it was difficult. The word self-control is definitely not in my dictionary. This chapter, Alone with Everybody, had already been cut in half but in the middle of the writing I realized that, if I continued, I was going to end up with a chapter that was waaaaaay too long. 
> 
> So here is the first part of the chapter and the second will come when I have managed to kick my inspiration's ass. 
> 
> Otherwise, stupid info on the author but I was sick (hence the delay and no, fortunately it was not the covid even though I had to do a test in doubt) and I now have wonderfully purple hair.
> 
> On that, enjoy your reading !

It is easy for Harry to realize that something has changed between Hermione, Ron and him.

It’s subtle, really. Almost invisible, barely noticeable. But for Harry, whose whole life has always revolved around his friends, his family by heart, it is like getting a punch in the face.

He thought at first that it was only the distance and lack of time to spend together. After all, they had just spent several months crammed on top of each other with no privacy whatsoever, so it was perfectly normal to be confused now that peace had returned. Especially since with the end of the war, everyone needed to find stable landmarks.

But it is difficult to find landmarks when the world is moving at full speed all around.There is hardly time for mourning because it is necessary to repair, rebuild, reform. The Weasleys only had a few days to go before they were recalled: Arthur and Percy are at the Ministry to lend Kingsley a hand as the rest of the family hover between Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. Hermione divides her time between the library at Nott Manor, where she remained to live, and the Ministry. Harry… Well, Harry is making himself useful in any way he can, preferably visibly.

The war is over, but he still has a role to play.

The discussions he may have with Hermione are short and often rushed as she always has a billion things to do, books to read, documents to check. Harry sometimes manages to get her nose out of her job when he brings her a cup of tea, but he can hardly do more. It is difficult to see Ron, his friend, wandering between different places where his family members are. Even when they do manage to be together, the conversation is not always easy at first. The loss of Fred still hangs over them like a pale specter that Harry cannot forget.

Then, after a few weeks, they can settle down, breathe a little. Work on Hogwarts East Wing has just been completed, most of Diagon Alley cleared, and Hermione has just surrendered an important case that would overturn most of the laws against the Muggleborns. They meet in the solarium at Nott Manor to soak up the good weather, the house elves providing them with large pitchers of iced tea and enough goodies to hold a siege.

They still get along like a house on fire and the conversation is now easy. They inform each other about what they have done, what they have been thinking. How strange it is for Harry to turn around only to find no one to guard his back. How strange it is for Hermione to call Ron only to find out after the fact that he's not there.

They talk and drink, laugh frankly for the first time in almost two months as they share anecdotes of their misadventures. They look at each other, smiles wide, eyes shining and it's like everything is as before.

Everything is as before ...

... And yet, nothing is the same.

And Harry is hurt, his heart hurts, his soul hurts. Because something is missing, something essential. Because they are always his best friends, his brother, his sister, his family but something is  _ gone _ , something has  _ disappeared  _ and in his heart, he cries. He mourns the piles of books and parchments covered in neat handwriting, left carelessly on the tables. He mourns the faded-colored, weathered wood chess board that always seemed to be waiting for a new game and is nowhere to be seen.

He cries.

He cries for the calm and comforting softness of the rain, which has disappeared silently. There are no more drops to trace along the glass and the floor is dry.

He cries for the tumultuous energy of the storm, vanished in the distance. There are no more evenings by the fireside listening to the wind blowing as if trying to pull Hogwarts off the ground.

He lost everything and gained nothing and his soul cries, lonely.

_ There is nothing left but a drearily, empty sky to contemplate. _

* * *

**The… creature continues to join him in his dreams, sporadically. Harry sometimes sees them for days in a row, then they disappear for over a week before reappearing just as suddenly as they were gone.**

**Harry has learned to get used to it.**

**He still struggles with their appearance though, which unpleasantly reminds him of a Dementor. The being who haunts his dreams is a tall, slender figure all draped in black veils, whose face, if they even have one, remains carefully hidden in the shadows of their hoods. He sometimes thinks he sees a faint glint of silver -** **_hair, eyes maybe ?_ ** **\- out of the corner of his eye, but he's not sure. Unlike the Dementors however, their clothes are flawless and although they also float slightly above the ground, they are much more ... graceful, in a totally inhuman way that is more beautiful than terrifying.**

**Their hands are also different.**

**Harry would know, he still has that encounter with a Dementor in the Hogwart Express in mind, with that grayish corpse-like hand with too long fingernails. That horrendous hand that seemed to have only semi-rotten skin stretched over sharp bones, as the creature opened the door to the cabin he shared with Ron and Hermione.**

**And Harry has had the opportunity to see the being’s hands since they first met. He stopped counting the number of times he saw and felt those long, pale and bony but definitely human fingers curl delicately around his wrist. Because as bizarre as it sounds, this nightmarish creature is… affectionate ? Or at least, they seem to have taken a liking to Harry.**

**"You make it so pretty here, so comfortable ..." a soft voice suddenly whispered against his ear, pulling him out of his thoughts as he was hugged from behind, having to repress a shudder at the freezing cold of the embrace. Still, he can't help but relax after a few moments. It is incomprehensible, but here, in this warm and familiar yet unknown dream setting, the paranoia that plagues him since the end of the war does not even seem to exist.**

**_He_ ** **feels safe.**

**The** **_being_ ** **feels safe.**

**_Everything feels safe._ **

**With his favorite armchair, the burgundy curtains and warm tones, the comfortable furniture and the knick-knacks that keep appearing and disappearing over the days, it feels ...**

**It feels like-**

**"... just like home, isn't it?" the being ends with subtle amusement, as if they haven't just been verbalizing Harry's thoughts. “I don't read minds, Little One, but your thoughts are written all over your face,” they hum softly, while subtly tightening the embrace.**

**"I have a question though...", they pursue.**

**A slight silence.**

**"Tell me, Little One... What is a home ?"**

* * *

The days go by, the weeks go by, the  _ months  _ go by and Harry continues to play his part.

Little by little life is resuming. People want to forget about wounds and scars that have barely healed, and any means are good. Popular balls are born in the streets, on warm summer evenings filled with laughter and songs to forget the destruction and the dead. The Nobles Houses organize balls one after the other, reviving the political and social dance. The Ministry is back in motion, with difficulty and it is now time to network and consolidate alliances. It takes time to rebuild everything and for that, Kinglsey needs to stay put for a little while before a possible successor risks upsetting the delicate balance. And to have that time, he needs allies.

And to have allies… Well, he needs Harry.

If Harry thought his fame as the Boy-Who-Lived was stupidly out of proportion for something he hadn't even done, his newfound fame as the Man-Who-Conquered, for something he did this time, is just fucking  _ nonsense _ .

He's gone from #1 Unwanted to one everyone wants to see, needs to see.

He can't get around in public without being assaulted by fans, even at Hogwarts. And as much as he appreciates the wave of support for rebuilding his beloved school, the fact that half of the people only participate in an attempt to get a glimpse of him rather than in a genuinely selfless manner stick in his throat.

_ Bunch of bloody hypocrites, two-faced crowd full of brainless fools, spine-less cowards who hid behind a fucking kid to do their dirty work, morons with no proper opinion who changes sides when it suits them, assh- _

And Harry begins to get sick of it, all the attention. He can't isolate himself at Nott Manor for too long because there are repairs to do, Kingsley allies to meet, social events to attend but, Merlin, he's so fucking  _ tired _ .

And then, as if it couldn't be worse, it suddenly becomes worse.

_ Damn you, Potter Luck. _

He should have foreseen it, but with the end of the censorship of the Voldemort regime, journalists are now free to write whatever they want... again.

And oh, oh how they take advantage, these  _ cockroaches _ .

It takes Harry all of his self-control and patience, carefully built over the years to deal with exactly this kind of shit, to not explode in annoyance the first few weeks of watching the Daily Prophet vomit his name wherever they could.

They had started slowly, summaries of the war, a few articles on the new government, on reconstruction. Small, relatively harmless things to get back into the mix, regain their readers.

Then, the day before his birthday, a special edition. About him. About his career, his friends, his  _ achievements _ . They review his schooling and the hardships he overcame, including the Triwizard Tournament, in great detail… but ignoring all the times they had fun dragging him in the mud, calling him a liar, a cheater, a madman only to dare to come and call for help when it was revealed that he was right from the beginning.

But worse, worse than this infamous retrospective, it's the last article in their special edition that sends him into an incoherent rage.

An entire article, filled with speculation about his future and what he will do now that he has killed Voldemort. Opinions are divided between “setting an example for the younger generation by going to finish his schooling in a refurbished Hogwarts” or “doing his duty by joining the Auror Corps !”

His… duty.

His  _ duty  _ ?!

Theo's dueling room looks more like a battlefield than a training room after he vented his anger and Harry isn't sure how to feel under the stunned but amused gaze of his host in front of the damages.

He vaguely wonders if Theo would have been more horrified than amused at what he could have done with a fully functioning wand.

* * *

**“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much” would be a perfect sentence to start a book about his life. He doesn't yet know where it will all end because nothing is over yet -** **_at least he thinks nothing is over yet but does his death-rebirth in the Forbidden Forest count as an end ?_ ** **\- but he knows that if it all started somewhere, it was in that perfectly mundane little house that was No 4, Privet Drive in Surrey.**

**What Harry is certain of anyway is that No.4 Privet Drive, Surrey was anything but a home to him. There are few, if any, happy memories of this place. When he has to think of Privet Drive, the only thing that comes to mind is the abuse he suffered there. The clearest memory he has of this place is one from his closet, in which he lived for eleven years of his life and whose image remains so vivid that it is as if it had been engraved on the wall. back of his eyelids.**

**Entering Hogwarts, with its tall towers, its warmth, its** **_magic_ ** **only reinforced his distaste for the place. Although he ended up acquiring a bedroom along the way, seeing his window barred and a cat flap installed on his door didn't really improve the situation. He will always remember Privet Drive as a prison he spent his summers in, tormented by hunger, nightmares, and waiting for one thing: to be able to return to Hogwarts.**

**Sometimes he would like to say to himself that he resents his mother, for this barrier based on blood, on the family, which forced him into the “good care” of Aunt Petunia. Of course, this protection has saved his life several times, but he knows that Aunt Petunia, like him, would have been better off if they hadn't been made to play family.**

**Privet Drive was the Dursleys' home, never Harry Potter's.**

* * *

Nott Manor had grown silent again and almost as quiet as a tomb with the departure of those who had inhabited it in the disorder following the end of the war.

Theo tries not to show how he finds it hard to bear it, but Blaise knows him too well. So, it's no wonder he drags his boyfriend wherever he goes. The Manor can remain empty and sad during the day, as long as Theo doesn't have to witness it. So Blaise drags him to different rebuilding sites to help, takes him to see Hermione at the Ministry ... He even takes him, on a few occasions, to the Muggle world and endlessly enjoys Theo's almost childish wonder at modern technology.

They take the time to have correct dates now that Theo no longer has to hide from his father. Theodore Nott Senior - for the man was egocentric enough to attempt to mold his son into a carbon copy of himself, going so far as to give him the same name - had died during the Battle of Hogwarts, caught in the back by a particularly vicious curse.

Blaise doesn't dare ask but from Theo's vindictive glee at the news, he's pretty sure his partner is responsible for the said curse.

Most of the time, they don't return to the Manor until late afternoon, except when Theo is feeling particularly unsociable and prefers to spend the day reading in one of the gazebos in the garden. Evenings are always passed in the company of Harry and Hermione, who stayed to live with them. If they didn't really know each other before the war, sharing a space quickly fixed the problem and if Blaise knows that he and Theo will never be as close to Harry as Ron and Hermione are, he is however proud to say they are now Harry's friends.

Harry… He's better. A little. Or at least he was getting better but it looks like he’s starting to get worse again. In the days following the battle, he honestly looked like an Inferi, dragging himself slowly from one room to another, dead to the world. He had improved afterwards, but Hermione's recent demand to return to the public arena for political reasons is sending him back to a weary apathy.

When they were still at Hogwarts it was Theo, always more observant than Blaise ever would be, who had mentioned that Harry -  _ who was only “Potter” at the time _ \- seemed more than uncomfortable with his popularity. 

It was Theo, this time too, who was the first to notice that Harry was not doing well. It's not as bad as it was right after the Battle of Hogwarts, but Harry is starting to isolate himself more and more when he's not forced to attend public events. Blaise often finds him in one of the small lounges in the West Wing, the one with the large armchair near the high window and the beautiful view of the garden pond, to gaze into space and with eyebags growing from day by day. It is also not uncommon for Theo to get up during the night to find him huddled in an armchair in the library, in the dark, motionless.

He never comments on Harry's red eyes, or how his pale complexion glistens with cold sweat, but he's always quick to offer him a hot herbal tea.

  
  


And if he drug the latter with a few drops of Calming Draft, well… Theo knows better than anyone how horrible nightmares can be.

Hermione, who has stayed because she has nowhere to return to since she Obliviate her parents, seems more and more concerned with Harry's health with each passing day and it is easy to see the guilty glow in her eyes every time she takes note of the dark circles darkening under Harry's green eyes.

She was the first to ask him to see a mediwizard for his sleep problems and nightmares.

“The Wizarding World isn't as advanced as the Muggle world in terms of mental health care, but could you give it a try? I know Andromeda was interested in it… "she whispered to him in a low voice one evening, as they gathered in the library, before continuing," It doesn't hurt to ask, anyway! "

The mention of a healer tensed Harry, not exactly surprising. However, when Andromeda's name is called out, it is as if something is awakening in the teenager's mind, as his eyes widen in horror.

“Andromeda… She… Teddy !”

A silence. Then he collapses in the chair, one arm thrown over his face to hide his expression as he whispers in a broken voice, a pitiful tone filled with self-loathing that he had forgotten Teddy.

* * *

**The Burrow was the first magical house Harry had ever had the opportunity to visit, in which he had been able to stay for a long time. He will always remember the sight of this weird, florid place, as if the house itself was alive and had grown additions as the time passed by. The Burrow was new, strange, magical and to Harry it was the best thing after Hogwarts and its trials, after Privet Drive and its abuses.**

**He had been deeply fascinated by the magic saturating the place, the rickety architecture and the gnomes invading the garden. Fascinated by the power he could feel buzzing in the old stones and the way the place was deeply** **_alive_ ** **.**

**He had spent the best summer of his life at the Burrow.**

**The Burrow was and still is a home. A warm, open and safe place in which he had been able to rest, have fun, live fully.**

**But it was only temporary, short moments, which were not meant to last.**

**It was a house, but it was not his house.**

**He was just a guest.**


End file.
